


Leather-Bound Book

by Rowdyravenclaw



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, F/M, Infinity War Steve Rogers, Longing, Nomad Steve Rogers, artist!Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:09:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21882052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rowdyravenclaw/pseuds/Rowdyravenclaw
Summary: Nomad Steve is holed up in a small coastal town and there's only one thing missing. He'll have to settle with what lies in his memory and the pages of his small leather sketchbook.It's a short and sweet little one shot.
Relationships: Steve Rogers x Reader, Steve Rogers/Reader
Kudos: 25





	Leather-Bound Book

Solitary outcasting—it seemed a fit punishment. After their last victory against another ragtag group of scum, Team Cap had all but disbanded; Nat had her own story to figure out and Sam hid easily in the world—he was much more accustomed to it, and he knew how to have a good time. Clint and Scott had taken their house arrest assignments and Wanda, well, she was Wanda. 

A small, coastal town in Maine had beckoned him in after his last mission, one that had almost taken him, and two months later he found himself still there. Somehow, after all this time, he’d remained incognito, and the quiet was deafening. Despite the peace that surrounded him, he felt nothing but conflict, and fear. 

Just as he did every morning when the sun rose, he pulled his small sketchbook from the inside of his strewn jacket’s pocket. The book that now held his every emotion, every small window of escape. Sleep came in short bursts, the nightmare’s keeping him from ever achieving more than three hours a night. He was running ragged, slowly unraveling as each never-ending day passed him by.

Sometimes, in the early hours, he drew the sea tumultuous and raging. The blackened skies would welcome him home as the lead crumbled beneath his heavy hand, the waves crashing against the rocks, slowly eroding away the stone. 

Other days, it was the New York City skyline, the pencil etching those familiar windows and skyscrapers as the nostalgia set in. Life was easier then. And harder. But it was familiar, and despite having learned to navigate this new world, he still never quite felt at home. 

Sometimes he drew her, the shape of her smile almost a muscle memory now as he’d add the slight wrinkles in her nose that appeared only when she laughed. He’d always been in awe of those little creases, but more infatuated with the way his heart would settle when she was near. She never did anything in particular, but her presence alone held a power over him that he didn’t understand, and he didn’t think he wanted to either. 

He missed her, there was no other way to put it. He shouldn’t, she was never his to miss, but he did. If leaving her hadn’t been the only way to keep her safe, he would have never found the willpower to walk out those doors. But this loneliness, this emptiness, it was worth her life. At least that’s what he told himself. It was the risk, not the fears that ate away at him. It had become almost a mantra now, and its effects were faltering.

Today, however, as the sun began to peek above the horizon, his fingers took control and as he watched them work, his eyes recognized the sight before him very well. That tousled hair, the sultry expression—this was a forbidden memory. It was never supposed to happen, and he certainly was not supposed to be recalling it. He’d been weak, lonely, scared; it wasn’t her burden to bear, yet he’d placed it upon her shoulders as if she were Atlas, ready to carry the weight of his world. And as soon as he’d tainted her with his shame and grievances, he’d left. 

His teeth clenched as his traitorous hand continued its task, her outstretched hand reaching for him off the page. His eyes burned, and his forearm tightened before finally, his left hand freed him from his self-inflicted torture. 

The table flew across the floor, slamming into the wall with an echoing thud, his chest heaving as he desperately collected the sight of her naked in his bed and threw them back into their prison. He needed air, the confines of his rented cottage suffocating him as his anger closed in on his chest, trapping him inside his own treasonous body. 

He tucked his book back into the breast pocket of his flannel, disappointed in himself for clutching it like a lifeline, like it was the last remaining possession he owned that mattered. Maybe it was. 

The breeze was brisk as he walked the familiar path to the water’s edge, the wind whipping his long hair into his eyes and droning out the noise in his head. Maybe it was time to go back to work, alone. Peace was an illusion, a pipe dream. Maybe he just needed to fight, release some pent up energy, free the anger. 

“You’re a hard man to find, ya know,” a woman’s voice called from somewhere off to his left as he stopped on the shore. Normally he’d snap into the defensive, but that normal fight response never came, “Had to find Wilson first, he’s…not as good at this whole nomad thing. It looks good on you though. I like the beard, and the hair, and the jacket.”

This wasn’t real. Was he sleeping still? That voice was only in his dreams now.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he warned, refusing to turn his eyes in her direction, afraid of the consequences.

“I missed you too,” she responded, he could hear her smile, see the sarcasm dripping off of her sly smirk, “I didn’t come all this way for nothing, Rogers. You can at least tell me why.”

“I had to.”

“Don’t give me that stoic, mission-over-man bullshit. I thought we were passed this.”

“It was this for me, or for us both. Easy choice.”

“Yeah, it is. Something tells me we aren’t on the same page though.”

He’d been so caught in his thoughts, trying to keep the barricades holding her back from crumbling, that he hadn’t noticed her moving until she stood before him, mere inches now separating them. His self control was waning, she looked the same, her hair wind-tousled around her eyes—she looked just as she had that fateful morning…

“Why’d you leave me there?” she asked again, her voice softer, the mask of sarcasm fallen away, “Why Steve?”

“It’s not your burden. This isn’t your mess, Y/N,” he whimpered, her audible pain too much for his guilt-stricken conscience to bear.

“You’re my mess.”

His head turned away, but her palm fell immediately to his cheek, bringing his eyes back to her own, and her tear-brimmed gaze swallowed him whole. His reaction was involuntary as he lowered his forward to hers, cradling her face gently in his hands as if it was the most precious treasure.

“You deserve better,” he began, and abruptly he was cut off.

“Stop your self-deprecating bullshit, I’m tired and I need an answer,” she demanded, “Why did you leave me there, after finally…after making it seem like this was what you wanted? That I was what you wanted?”

“I was angry, at myself. And I was afraid.”

“What are you afraid of?”

That answer was easy, and despite his attempts at holding it behind his teeth, it rolled through his mutinous lips, “Not being enough.”

Shockingly, it felt good to say to out loud. But it felt even better when his concerns washed away as her lips pressed softly against his. She was so gentle, and he’d missed her more than he’d ever known himself capable. When her fingers wove through the hair on the back of his head, he felt that deep serenity only she provided flow through him once again.

“The only way you’re not enough, is when you’re not around,” she affirmed, running her fingers across his jaw, “I just want you. Surging righteousness and all.”

“I can’t ask you to stay,” he maintained, but as his spoke those words, his hands fell to her waist, holding her steady, keeping her close. He didn’t know who’d come out the other side of watching her walk away.

“You don’t have to ask, Steve.”

He could feel his face softening, the stone eroding away as her waves lapped gently against his hardened barricades, and for the first time in as long as he could remember, the corners of his mouth ticked into a smirk. He saw her spot the small brown leather book peeking over the top of his pocket, and she gave him a knowing smile. Nimbly, her fingers pulled it free and flipped through the illustrated diary of his soul, stopping at the final entry.

Laughing a breath through her nose, her eyes turned back to his, “Looks like you need some sleep,” she stated, turning back to the sketch from the night before—her bedroom at the Avengers compound.

“You’re not wrong,” he laughed, and she chimed in with him, kissing him one last time before tugging him by the hand back towards his secluded abode. 

Home. Now it was home.


End file.
